Tainted Love
by Lady Silvamord
Summary: Nice, neat, happily ever afters aren't free, but Kalasin Iliniat would give anything to have one. As time goes on, she learns that maybe, one doesn't always need a neat, perfect ending in order to be happy. Complete.
1. Tainted Love

Note: Drabble series, multi-chapter. Most of these aren't linked, really, but are just snippets of daily life. Very open to interpretation. See it the way you want to see it.

**Tainted Love**

-

Kalasin had never been one to just _settle _for anything—she wanted the best that she could have for herself.

Kaddar had long since learned that sometimes, one had to make some sacrifices.

--

Her pride was wounded at the way he had pressed her up against the bookshelf, hard, but the bruise on her back hurt much more. Later, she sits on the edge of the bed, trying not to wince as he rubs the salve on her back.

"I'm—"

"Don't." Her fingers clutch the sheets, hard, as the salve begins to tingle over the bruises. Imagining that her nails are damaging his shoulders, and not delicate blue sheets that really don't deserve this kind of abuse, takes some of the pain away.

-


	2. Harder To Breathe

**Harder To Breathe**

**-**

Kalasin wants to _throw _something at him, times like this—a bottle, a vase, a brick, something _heavy_—

To her shame, a strangled sob comes out instead, and she drops her riding boots in the middle of their study and runs away, to the safety of her room.

She locks all the doors, including the adjoining one that leads to his room, and collapses on the bed, before starting to cry.

An hour later, Kaddar enters softly, the locks proving no obstacle for his Gift. She is lying on the bed, staring at the dresser dully. A stack of half-written letters to home takes up the half not filled with her personal belongings.

He sits on the bed, and she doesn't move. Carefully, he presses two cool fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Kalasin bites her lip, and resists the temptation to nuzzle her face into his hand.

Taking her hand, he pulls her up into a sitting position. "Better?"

Shrugging, she looks away.

Kaddar takes that as permission, helping her off the bed. Kalasin gives him a glare that would be defiant if it isn't so exhausted.

"Come on," he tells her gently. "Let's eat."

-


	3. Walk Away

-

Kalasin loves her room—it is a million shades of soothing blue. When there's a light breeze, her curtains flutter, so that they look like rippling ocean waves.

She can see the coastline from her window, and sometimes she even sleeps in the huge, cool marble window seat. It is her only refuge, here. If she turns away from the window, Kalasin can imagine that she is back at home.

Being in her bedchamber makes Kaddar uncomfortable. It is too unfamiliar for him, too foreign. Too light and bright, and there are too many of her things strewn about the furniture and bed.

Kalasin knows that he doesn't like being in here; it's evident by the way he leans against the door separating their rooms awkwardly, watching her secure her light veil over her hair and face. The Empress wonders if she should be offended, but decides that it would be too much trouble. She takes him by the hand and pulls him out of her sanctuary insistently, and he follows.

After all, this is a place for familiar things, loved things, and he is neither. He doesn't _belong, _and they both know that it is useless to pretend otherwise.

-


	4. Wonder

-

Kaddar's bedspread is red and gold, and too extravagant for Kalasin's liking. She sprawls across it, before asking him how he can _sleep _on such finery.

"I would have thought you'd be used to such by now," he replies dryly.

"Not quite," Kalasin retorts. She strokes the heavy fabric. "This material could feed a family for a year…"

"Leave it," he orders abruptly.

They are silent, both of them lying on the thick covers, their hands brushing against each other's. Kalasin wants to speak, but decides it would be useless. "I had thought…"

"Mmm?"

"Nothing. Just…nothing."

-


	5. For The Country

-

There are times when she _hates _how foreign Carthak is. She hates it that it's so sophisticated and intellectual, and yet it's so _backward _at the same time.

She thinks that Kaddar should change it, fix it, but then she realizes that he is a man, and probably doesn't even know that there is anything wrong with his country.

But she had thought he would understand when she tried to talk to him, and later, after she retreats in defeat, she flings herself down on her bed bitterly. It had been too much to hope for, after all.

"Will _anything _change? Ever?" Kalasin asks him that night, hating how piteous her voice sounds.

Kaddar spears a strawberry, absentmindedly. "I doubt it."

"Oh." _Won't you try, a little harder? For me? _

"This nation's ways of life are thousands of years old. They can't be changed in a year or ten." Kaddar pauses. "It wouldn't be wise."

Kalasin looks up at him. "If you could change it, would you?"

"Yes."

"You're a horrible liar, you know that?"

Kaddar tries to coax her into eating her strawberry. "Kalasin—"

She stands, pushing her plate away. "It's all right. I'm not hungry. Really," she adds, seeing the doubt on his face.

Kalasin leaves the room, shutting the door behind her softly, and goes to sit on the window seat. She waits for him to come back and fetch her. He doesn't. It doesn't surprise her, really, but it hurts more than she had expected it to.

-


	6. Intervention

-

The Southern Lands are giving them trouble, and after they are forced to send the army to pacify the mobs, after more killings and the leaders are imprisoned, Kaddar is left in a depressed and angry mood for days.

Kalasin is frustrated at _his _moods—after all, couldn't he see that it had been necessary?

During dinner that night, he is restless, pacing, venting his anger at the rebels. After a while, Kalasin realizes that she has to calm him somehow, and rises, pushing her oranges aside. After chasing him around the table for a few moments, she corners him behind the sofa, and reaches up on the tips of her toes to put her hands on his tense shoulders. "Calm down."

"Don't tell me to—"

"I can tell you to do whatever I please, thank you very much," she interrupts smoothly. He moves to walk away, irritated, but she pulls him back, hard. "Now, sit, my lord."

Kaddar sits, grudgingly, and she begins to attend to his aching back. It hurts more than it soothes, really, for she is using her thumbs _far _more than is necessary—

"Ouch!"

"That didn't hurt," Kalasin replies sweetly, hooking one slender leg behind his, efficiently tangling them together. "You're so very tense…"

Kaddar closes his eyes, and they fall silent. "We were just trying to help," he says, after a while, "can't they see that? It was for the safety of the people."

Kalasin thinks it's best not to reply, and moves her attentions to the base of his neck.

"You were hurt, too," he continues distantly. "Ow, more to the right—you were sick last week—and one of your maids said that you were wandering around at night—you have smudges under your eyes."

Kalasin is a bit startled at the swift change of subject, and abandons the massage. "Oh, really?"

"Well, you did," he tells her, sounding a little annoyed. "You need to take care of yourself."

"I am perfectly capable of doing that," she frowns. "But since when did you ever…"

Kaddar shrugs with one shoulder, before taking one of her hands and guiding it to his back. "You give me too little credit."

"…Oh." There is an awkward silence between them, before Kalasin resumes the massage, much more gently than before.

-


	7. Punishment

-

His hands are almost gentle on her bruised and scratched arms, even as he berates her as soundly as her parents or tutors ever had.

"You are without a doubt the most _stupid _woman I have ever known." His warm hands leave the backs of her arms for a moment, and then more of the cooling salve rests on them, as he rubs it in. "Asinine would be a better way to describe you, now that I think of it—"

"Shut up," she replies, too tired and achy to care about propriety.

Kaddar gives her elbow a light squeeze for her troubles, although he's careful to do it right above her scrape. _"You _shut up. You've done yourself enough damage for one day.

Kalasin looks back at him. His head is bent, as he studies the rest of the marks on her, and tends to them as necessary. They are both silent, until she leans back, into his arms. Her head fits under his chin, and he moves a little, so that his lips aren't brushing her hair. His cheek hits the bump on the side of her head, and she winces, closing her eyes tight.

Sighing, he reaches out and holds her close. "I forbid you to go riding again," the Emperor murmurs. "Alone. If you're going to go, you're going with me."

Startled, she tries to wriggle away. "No!"

He is stronger, and keeps her with him. "You'll do as I say."

Kalasin glares up at him, even though the squinting makes her head ache. "I hate you."

"Ah, but I care."

"No, you don't," she mutters rebelliously. "I'm going to my room now." Kalasin tries to get up, stumbles over his foot, and falls on her face.

Kaddar pulls her back. "You aren't going anywhere."

Near-concussion or not, Kalasin knows when arguing with him is pointless. So she sits up, and manages to cock an eyebrow at him. "And you aren't getting anything."

Gently, he pushes her down, so that she's flat on her back, blinking up at him. "I know. Just go to sleep."

Even at the edge of sleep, she manages to give him a look that would have been lethal, if she hadn't been cuddled up against him, with the soft covers pulled up to her chin. To her indignation, Kaddar brushes her cheek with his hand. "Sleep well." He kisses her on the cheek. "Heal."

Kaddar is careful to keep one arm wrapped around her, during the night. He doesn't want her falling off the bed or doing some such ridiculous thing, and after all, she has already done herself enough damage without his protection, for one day.

-


	8. Classic Romantic

-

It takes a while for Kalasin to recover from her fall, and she takes the opportunity to rest and relax. No work, just play. Well, not exactly play, but lounging around in bed reading romance novels is close enough.

Kaddar comes in to visit her in the evening, sending the maids scurrying as they hurry to give the Emperor and Empress privacy. She plays up her illness beautifully, and gives him a weak wave and flutter of her eyelashes. "Hello. Are those flowers for me?"

He looks a little out of place in her room, but she appreciates the effort. He carries a bouquet of roses in red, white, and yellow, which he sets down near her. "Yes—um, feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." She motions for him to sit down next to her, and he does so.

"What are you reading?" he asks, after a few moments of absentmindedly stroking her hair.

"Oh—Romeo and Juliet." Kalasin blushes a little, before turning slightly to look up at him.

He gives her a wry smile. "How wonderfully ironic."

"Oh, stop it. Don't be so pessimistic. Haven't you read this before? It's _only _the greatest Gallan classic of all time."

"I read it, but I hated the ending. After all they had been through together, it seemed like a bit of a letdown."

Kalasin shrugs. "A happy ending would have been nice, but things don't always work out that way." She sets her book down and closes her eyes, and Kaddar would have thought that would be his dismissal, until she moves a little, settling her head in his lap.

More than a little nonplussed, he leans against the pillows carefully. After a few minutes of being used as a pillow, he reaches out to find her discarded book. The binding is creased from multiple readings. A few pages of romantic sap have been marked with red ribbons. Kaddar toys with the pages for a while. Kalasin turns a little, making herself comfortable.

Kaddar touches her cheek gently, and she doesn't stir. Deciding that he's probably going to be here for a very long time, he opens the book to one of the ribbon-marked pages and begins to read.

-


	9. Letters From Home

-

Her letters to him are filled with news about what's going on at the palace, how this noble or another is stirring up trouble _again, _and how they're going to get themselves killed by rival factions if they're not careful, and other such things.

There's a paragraph asking about the rebellion and giving strategic advice, and a sentence, in slightly smaller handwriting, asking him how he's doing. She sends her well wishes, and writes that she hopes he'll be back soon.

The endings of her letters are always the same—one or two phrases scratched out, and then, a _sincerely, Kalasin _finishing it off.

Kaddar sits in his tent, rereading them by candlelight, and wonders what she had intended to write, and, more importantly, when he had begun to care.

-


	10. Kalasin Day

-

Kaddar is scheduled to return from Amar two weeks after her eighteenth birthday, and feels a little guilty that he hasn't sent her anything, rebellion or not.

The last day before he has to leave, Kaddar goes to the marketplace, and wonders how he's supposed to search for gifts for _her_. Zaimid is equally clueless, and points out a selection of rather tempting nightgowns in a corner stall. Kaddar thinks that he rather likes the red and black one, but then he realizes that Kalasin might not feel the same way.

They wander around the east marketplace for the whole evening, looking for things for her. The jewelry is rather cheap, the clothes are somewhat odd, and the perfume smells funny. Despaired, Kaddar considers giving up and just giving her a hug and a kiss for her birthday.

At long last, they find a part of the market that isn't so hopeless, after all. They decide to split up, and meet at the hat stall in an hour. Zaimid returns with an assortment of brightly colored sheer scarves and veils, made out of surprisingly good quality fabric, and a set of charmed jewelry, rumored to bring good luck to the wearer. The charms are modeled after mystical and mythological figures, and the necklace has celestial patterns on it.

Kaddar brings bangles in silver, gold, and glass, earrings in thin, delicately wrought silver and sapphires. He manages to find a nice blue salvar, and strings of brilliant jewels that would look beautiful in her hair.

After some conference, they decide on the jewel strings, the earrings, the charm necklace, and a few of the scarves and veils, all topped off by a bouquet of marigolds and jasmine. Kaddar feels satisfied with himself, and as he carefully packs away her gifts among his things, he thinks that she had _better_ like them, late or not.

Kaddar is surprised to realize that he's nervous when he gives them to her, and that the nervousness only increases as she smiles over her gifts quietly.

"_Well_?" he asks, at last, unable to contain his impatience.

Kalasin finishes clasping the necklace, and beams at her reflection in the mirror. Kaddar has to admit that it looks lovely on her; the earrings even more so. "They're late," she informs him, crossing her arms, but he can see the hint of mischief in her reflection.

"I am well aware of that," the emperor responds, moving to stand behind her. "Aside from my being inconsiderate and unpunctual, what else do you think?"

Kalasin pouts. "You took away the rest of my speech." She reaches across and drapes the red veil, shot through with silver threads, over her shoulders. "But aside from that? I love them." She reaches up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and stands on the tips of her toes to give him a quick kiss.

Kaddar feels an irrational desire to smile back at her, but stifles it by straightening her veil. "Better late than never, I figured."

She takes his hand in hers, and pauses, struggling with what she wants to say. "Thank you, I suppose."

"You're welcome," he replies automatically, and they're left standing in the middle of her room a little awkwardly. "So."

"So?"

Kaddar steps toward the door, her hand still in his. "Walk with me?"

She hesitates a moment, before smiling again. "Did I just hear a request?"

"It's part of your belated birthday present. Don't get used to it."

"Well, because you asked so politely. But _only_ because of that." Kalasin slips her arm through his, and as they walk through the deserted hallways of the Imperial Palace, she wonders if they've changed.

-


	11. Fallout

-

Sometimes Kaddar wonders how he should feel about almost every eligible male in his Court lusting after Kalasin. He admits that it's slightly unsettling, after a while—she's married and _his,_ and while there is the whole people-wanting-what-they-can't-have issue, he can't understand why else anybody would want to put up with her every single day of their lives.

Which might just be a _little _exaggeration, but part of him is still bitter about how the women stopped throwing themselves at him after the first two years of being sole Emperor.

"You encourage them," he tells her, darkly.

"I do not!"

"When that squire something-or-another wrote you a poem, you smiled at him the next day at dinner."

"Kaddar, I was just being _pleasant._"

"He was so lost in your _beautiful sapphire eyes, blue as the depths of the ocean, _if I may quote, that he didn't notice that he had overfilled my cup of cordial and was spilling it all over the table. And my clothes."

Kalasin blushes. "Yes, well…"

"And you were flirting with those mages, last time," he accuses. "I saw the look on your face. That was no academic discussion and you know it."

"But _Kaddar…_"

"What?" he glowers, crossing his arms. "Don't tell me that you like being flattered and having poems written to your left toenail. Or…or…having people salivate over you."

She glares right back at him. "Has it occurred to you that I just might enjoy the attention?"

That floors Kaddar for a few moments, before he retaliates, lashing out in revenge for his wounded pride. "Why do you _need _the attention? _I _give you attention. Unless you're just one of those women who needs a harem of male slaves to make her feel—"

"Do you ever _think _that sometimes I might want realattention and affection and adoration, and all those nice things?" she asks breathlessly, her cheeks flushed with anger. "Don't blame _me _because—"

"Just go," he tells her bitterly.

Kalasin gives him one last furious and despairing look, before fleeing the room, leaving him sitting alone, with nothing but one of her romance novels and the echoes of their words to keep him company.

-

Rawr! Kaddar vs. Kalasin, fight of the century!

Thoughts?


	12. Truce

-

"I brought you dinner." His voice is very soft, and yet it seems to echo in the deserted library. She can just see him from her armchair, holding an overfilled plate and a glass of strawberry cordial.

Kaddar approaches cautiously, after judging that she isn't very volatile at the moment. Kalasin watches the plate curiously as he sets it down on the desk beside the armchair. "I don't eat that much," she points out. "And that strawberry's going to overbalance and fall into the gravy."

He shrugs. "I wasn't sure. I'll help you finish, if you need me to."

Her first instinct is to retort that she doesn't _need _anything, but that's before he plucks the strawberry from its precarious position on the fruit salad mountain and offers it to her. It is a lovely strawberry, plump, red, and juicy. Kalasin can usually recognize a peace offering when she sees one, and tonight is no different. "Truce?" Kaddar asks, and she nods back at him, as she accepts the fruit delicately.

"Truce."

They eat in silence, occasionally trading pieces of food or exchanging the cordial glass.

She reaches out and touches his cheek, and he looks up from a slice of mango, startled. For a moment, she doesn't know what to say. "You're trying," she manages, at last.

Kaddar gives her a wry smile. "It's not roses or an ode to your fair brow, but…"

She cuts him off by leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss, and he reaches up to grasp her wrists lightly, through his surprise. "Thank you."

He isn't sure what to say back, but settles with a nod, and she can't help but give him an uncharacteristically shy smile in return.

They leave the library together, in silence.

-

reviews appreciated. -grin-


	13. Late Night Therapy

Kalasin finds that she doesn't like winters in Carthak—too many things happen, more nobles choose to stir up trouble, the Copper Isles raids become more frequent and vicious, and _some _kings choose to violate terms of binding treaties. Unfortunately, all of these things affect her and Kaddar directly.

Personally, she wishes that she could just shove everything away to the back of her head and _forget _it all, just for a few weeks, but her husband doesn't share the same outlook on it. It stresses him out, and Kaddar isn't the type to keep his stress to himself.

"My lady, my lady!"

Kalasin wakes to her youngest maid tugging her hand anxiously. "Kira, what?" she manages, groggily. From what she can see from her sleep-clouded eyes, the water clock tells her that it's one in the morning.

"It's the Emperor, my lady—"

"Kaddar? Is he all right?" She sits up, rubbing her eyes.

"Yes, my lady, and—"

Kalasin flops back down into bed with a groan. "What _is _it? What does he want?"

"He wants you, my lady!" The nine-year-old reflects upon her sentence for a moment, and concludes that that doesn't sound quite right. "I mean, he wants to see you, my lady, in his room, as soon as possible."

At that moment, Kalasin wants nothing more than to pull the covers back over her head, and sleep. But that would be disobeying a direct order. "Fine. I'm up. Which way is the door?"

She stands a little unsteadily, groping around in the darkness, until Kira lights a candle. "My lady?" she asks timidly. "Do you…I mean…do you want a hairbrush? Or a robe?"

Kalasin looks around the girl, and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, puffy eyes, rumpled nightgown, tangled braid, and all. "No thank you, Kira." She touches the girl's light brown hair. "Go back to sleep."

She stalks out of her room, her chilly feet sinking into the carpet, and finds Kaddar in his room, leaning against the windowsill and looking out over the night sky. "It took you long enough," he says mildly, not turning around.

Crossing her arms, she glares at him. "You are without a doubt one of the most _inconsiderate _people I have ever met."

"What did I ever do to deserve that title?" he shoots back.

"I was _asleep!_"

Kaddar shrugs slightly. "Sorry."

"I'm not your plaything, to be woken up and summoned for absolutely no reason at all—"

"Well, I _need _you."

Kalasin's jaw drops. "All my life, I've wanted somebody to say that to me, and yet, when _you _do it, it loses all of its romantic quality."

He gives her a small smile. "You're welcome."

"Why am I here?"

"Why do you _think_?" he deadpans.

Kalasin walks over to the bed and flops down on it, exhausted. "Just take me," she says wearily. "Don't rip the nightgown, though—it's new. And then let me rest."

Kaddar follows her. "That wouldn't be as much fun as what I had planned, you know."

She turns away from him and groans. "Gods save me. You're tired and stressed and _miserable, _and you're thinking about _sex?_ You should be sleeping."

Sighing, he pulls her up into a sitting position. "I wasn't thinking about sex, woman. Although, now that you mention it, that would be a very pleasant alternative…"

Kalasin gives him a look reminiscent of a small puppy begging for food.

"Fine, fine. I was just going to ask you to rub my back for a while, and then that you be kind enough to enchant me to sleep afterward."

"Then I can sleep, too?"

"Yes."

Yawning, she places her hands on his tense shoulders. "All right."

Their massage session ends with Kaddar facedown on the bed, with Kalasin sprawled out over his back, her face resting between his shoulder blades. "Good night."

"Wait," he murmurs drowsily. "You don't intend to sleep there, do you?"

"You wanted pressure therapy," she responds sleepily. "I'm giving you pressure therapy."

"Mmm, all right then. Sleep well."

Kalasin kisses the nape of his neck. "Don't you dare wake me up again."

Before he can reply, she is sound asleep.

-

aww!


	14. Broken

-

Kaddar wakes up to an empty bed very early one morning. It's started to happen more and more often; at first, he had chalked it up to Kalasin's usual moodiness, but there was that time he had found her in the bathroom, throwing up. She claimed drunkenness, and after he carried her back to bed, she slept for the next fourteen hours. It hadn't happened recently, but…

Feeling more than a little grouchy, he drags himself out of bed, pulls on a robe, and begins to search.

He finds her in the bathroom about five minutes later. Sighing, Kaddar walks over, places his arms around her, and sweeps her tangled hair away from her face as she continues to retch. After a while, she starts to cry; he holds her steady as she wobbles a little.

After Kalasin stops, and the only sound left in the bathroom is her sniffling, Kaddar reaches around and wipes the tears from her cheeks. "How long have you known?" he asks, uncharacteristically gently.

"Three weeks," she mumbles, scrubbing at her eyes.

"How long?"

"Two and a half months."

Kaddar remains silent.

"But I don't _want _to be," she sobs. One slightly shaking hand finds her comb, and she throws it against the wall with sudden vehemence. "I don't _want _to—"

He's known her for long enough to know that this is going to escalate into hysterics before long. He wraps an arm around her carefully, and half-carries her out of the bathroom. Kalasin has stopped crying, but her shoulders shake with an occasional shiver or hiccup, and she offers no resistance.

He takes her back to bed, and she tucks her head into the crook of his arm. Kaddar isn't quite sure about what to do, so he rubs her back soothingly.

"Why?" she asks, at last, her voice raw. "Why now, why did you do this to me, I'm _scared_—"

Kaddar hugs her close, stroking her hair, but he doesn't apologize, so they cling to each other, and the empty silence is louder than her tears.

-

Heh heh heh. Fun, isn't it?


	15. Pieces Together

-

After exactly five months, Kalasin decides that she hates being pregnant.

She hates it that her back hurts constantly. She hates not being able to keep any food down. Sleeping on her back has been rendered impossible, thanks to the—presence—inside her.

_It _has begun to kick her quite often, now. It's a startling feeling, and Kalasin wishes that she could tell it to stop.

Most of the time, she even wishes that _it _had never happened. Varice knits her baby clothes in pink and blue, delivering more and more every week. Kalasin thanks her friend with a smile and a hug, as always, but the clothes end up lying on her window seat in a heap, ignored.

Every now and then Kaddar ventures into her room a little tentatively, sits on the window seat, and folds the tiny clothes with care, before taking them to his dresser and setting them in a separate drawer.

Kaddar soon discovers that strawberries, oranges, and mangoes are just about the only things that she can keep down. A couple of hours after mealtimes, he brings her a plate, because he knows that she throws up almost everything else. She accepts the food with grace and a quiet word of thanks, but he sees the warring gratitude and resentment in her eyes as she looks at him.

He worries about her, sometimes—worries if it's normal that a mother-to-be should feel this way toward her unborn child. He hopes she will grow out of it, for the child's sake.

The country rejoices at the news that Carthak will soon have an heir. If the child is a son, that is.

Through an unspoken arrangement, they haven't asked Nadi, Kalasin's personal healer and Kaddar's elder sister, for any information about the gender of the baby. Kaddar doesn't want to disappoint or to be disappointed (if it's born _healthy,_ he should be grateful, regardless of gender, a voice in his head tells him reproachfully) and Kalasin doesn't want to know anything about the child who has stolen her freedom.

Kalasin's delivery, three months and three weeks later, is an exercise in silent rage.

When she sees her daughter (_daughter, _says a malevolent voice inside her, _daughter, all this for nothing; see how you've failed?_) for the first time after she regains consciousness, she sees a tiny girl wrapped in a pink blanket with her features and Kaddar's eyes. The baby stares at her mother for a moment before letting out a sudden scream, echoing Kalasin's anger.

Something inside her crumbles, and she pulls the baby close, and the empress has never fully realized how alike love and hate are, until that moment. Kalasin holds her child and stands on the edge between them. It is as sharp as a scythe, cutting her heart in two.

When Kaddar sees Kalasin, the first thing he does is kiss her so hard she can't breathe for a good few moments. He looks down to the child she cradles, and reaches out to touch the baby's cheek, wordlessly.

Kaddar hates the part of him that is disappointed because it is a girl, but Kalasin is holding the child toward him, her eyes defiant, daring him to show any sign of disapproval, and he accepts her a little awkwardly. He hasn't held anything this tiny in recent memory.

"What are we going to name her?" Kalasin asks him softly.

He lowers his eyes to the yawning baby in his arms. "Tradition dictates that the mother name the daughter, and the father…"

His voice fails him, and Kalasin gives him a cool look. "I see," she says stiffly, reaching out and taking her daughter back. Kaddar almost doesn't let her go. "I think Kalahari would be a nice name."

Kaddar nods his head. "Then Kalahari it shall be."

An awkward silence falls over them, and Princess Kalahari Iliniat looks from one parent to another before closing her eyes and nestling against Kalasin's chest.

After a while, the well-wishers start to arrive. Kalasin is in no mood to put up with councilors whose words of congratulations don't quite reach their eyes, but she gives them an equally insincere smile. She hears the unspoken _better luck next time, _and turns away, closing her eyes bitterly, and feigns sleep.

She's read enough history and historical fiction to know about daughters in royal families. First-born daughters in empires that aren't yet completely stable.

Kalasin determines not to let Kalahari be forgotten. That she won't be shunted to the side when she gets a younger brother. That she won't end up married to somebody who she doesn't _want _to be married to. That she won't be shipped off to some convent—Kalasin wonders if her daughter has inherited the Gift—and that she'll have _some _control over what happens in her future.

The Empress closes her eyes and falls asleep.

-

I'd like to say that, yes, it _is _established canon confirmed by TP that Kally and Kaddar's first child is a son, born at the end of TQ. But, I mean, artistic license! Plus, making their first child a daughter makes everything so much cooler and more complicated.

Review?


	16. Daffodil Dreams

-

Kalasin refuses to let Kaddar touch her after the baby is born, even after she's made a full recovery. When he tries to do so much as kiss her, she allows him four seconds of kissing, before moving away and giving him a dark glare.

Needless to say, when they say that they're going to stay up late to work on documents of state, they actually _work _on the documents of state, much to Kaddar's displeasure.

She's faced with a decision after Kalahari is born—during her pregnancy, Kaddar had "requested" that she sleep in the same room as him. Kalasin hated that decree and attempted to argue, but had ultimately failed. As an act of defiance, however, she refused to move her things into his room, as he had initially suggested.

"Are you staying tonight?" he asks her lazily, curled up under the covers.

Kalasin cuddles Kalahari as a defense mechanism. Kaddar notices, and smiles. "You've undergone a change of heart," he says, not unkindly.

The empress shrugs with one shoulder. "I like her better when she's not inside me." She crosses over and lets Kaddar kiss his daughter goodnight, before walking into her room that has, temporarily, become the baby's room. Tucking in the baby in her crib, she leans down and brushes her lips against Kalahari's forehead.

Later, after she's pulled the covers away and snuggled into bed, she feels Kaddar reach out and wrap an arm around her securely. Kalasin wants to complain, but finds that she can't. She does, however, move her head out of the way firmly after allowing him a good-night kiss.

The next afternoon finds Kaddar standing awkwardly in Nadi's office, watching her tidy up medical records. "What brings you here, lovely little brother?"

Kaddar sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He can think of at least fifty other places he'd rather be right now, including back in the conference room with his councilors. "I…"

"Spit it out." Nadi turns around and looks at him curiously, and he ducks his head in the face of her penetrating gaze.

"I want a…a charm…for Kalasin," he says defensively.

Nadi blinks, piecing it together. "I'm assuming you mean a pregnancy charm?"

Kaddar nods at the floor.

She smirks, deciding that she can abuse her position as a healer, just this once. "I _figured _it must be something drastic, for you to show up here during work hours."

"She's not letting me touch her," Kaddar says mournfully. "I wouldn't normally, but…"

"You're desperate," completes Nadi. "I never thought that _any _woman would reduce you to this pitiful state, Kaddar," she says mock-seriously, trying to stifle a giggle. "It's quite amusing."

"Just give me the—object, will you?"

Nadi walks over to a separate drawer, and after digging around in it for a bit, she emerges with a golden diamond-shaped charm hung on a fine bronze thread. Kaddar blinks down at it when she sets it in his outstretched hand. It looks like any average necklace, although he can sense the strong magic inside it.

He looks up to see Nadi grinning at him. "No need to frown at it so, darling; there's no need to tax your poor imperial head trying to figure out the mechanics of it. Kalasin's a smart girl; she won't have any problems figuring the thing out."

Kaddar is at the door before something about that sentence clicks. "And what is _that _supposed to mean?"

Nadi smirks again, and he pulls a face at her. "I always liked Nadareh better, you know," he flings back, and before the door is completely closed, he hears her start to laugh.

Later that night, after they've settled down and she's sitting opposite him on the bed, brushing her hair out, he pulls it out from his pocket and studies it for a moment, still unsure about how to present it to her.

At last, he just tosses it to her, and she catches it instinctively, before examining it, and looking back at him sharply. "A pregnancy charm?"

Kaddar shrugs, observing the weave of the blanket, and makes a noncommittal noise.

Kalasin studies the charm, unsure about what to feel about this. After a while, she clasps it around her neck, and it glints against the light of the candle. "Thank you. I think." Leaning across, she kisses him on the cheek lightly.

After the candles are blown out, he starts to toss and turn, as usual. Within about ten minutes, Kalasin has had enough. "Stop _moving_!"

"What's your issue?" he asks irritably.

"Your _head _is on my pillow, I barely have enough blankets, your feet are _cold _and they are _on my ankle, _and last time you rolled over, you flattened my hand!"

"Mithros, you are so high-maintenance…"

"What, you expect me to just lie here and take this abuse? Do you even know the meaning of _personal space_—"

"It's not abuse; stop blowing it out of proportion, and shut _up_, or else you'll wake up my daughter."

"_Your _daughter? _Your _daughter? _I _carried her for nine months and suffered seven hours of labor to bring her into this world, and you do barely _anything _and suddenly she becomes _your _daughter?"

"I always liked her better than you did."

A sharp intake of breath, and suddenly he's kicked, hard. "I really hate you, you know."

"Mmm, I know." On a whim, he kisses her cheek softly, ignoring her mumble of halfhearted protest. "Warm up my feet, won't you?"

Kalasin rolls her eyes in the dark. "I knew you only wanted me for my body." With that, she wraps her arms around him, summoning her Gift. A wave of warmth envelops both of them, and he sighs contentedly.

Quite a while later, her head rests on his chest, one hand lightly fisted in the material of his tunic. Kaddar toys with a strand of her hair idly, wondering what had happened to _personal space. _He doesn't mind the lack of it much at all, though, and, closing his eyes, he falls asleep, and dreams of Kalasin and daffodils.

-

-grin- how adorable!


	17. Apart

Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. And, I warn you--when finished with this chapter, you might have an urge to slap something. -grin-

-

Kalasin thinks that having Kalahari is startlingly similar to the little baby dolls she used to have when she was young, except _this _baby is real. But other than that, there are no real differences.

She has a child who she can cuddle and kiss, whose small features she can trace with a finger and realize with pride that their noses are exactly alike. A child who looks at her and gurgles happily with recognition, at the end of a long day.

A child who she can tuck away when she's finished with coddling it. She doesn't have to deal with Kalahari's spitting up, or her sleepless nights, or her colds or irritability or the weeks when she lies in her crib and gasps for breath and the Healers have to medicate her for days at a time-

Her things migrate to Kaddar's room after a while, and soon his bed becomes theirs, and the scent of her hair lingers on the pillows. She isn't sure how this happened, but she isn't sure whether she dislikes it or not.

They have a routine at nights--after dinner; they visit Kalahari in the nursery, spend some time with her, return to their rooms, and sleep.

This works for a few months, before she takes a day off, claiming a headache. Kaddar returns to their room to find her sprawled across the bed, an empty wine bottle and upturned glass across from her. Her head is buried in his pillow, and as he sits down next to her and lifts her head up, depositing it in his lap, he is startled to see that her cheeks are damp with tears.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently, because he knows better than anyone that she is volatile while drunk.

Kalasin hiccups, "I'm--I'm--I'm a bad mother!"

Kaddar hadn't expected that, of all things. "Shh, you're not a bad mother at _all_--" Secretly, he thinks that she's too young to _be _a proper mother, but refrains from mentioning that. "Talk to me?"

The empress sobs out everything that's been troubling her over the past few months; he is silent for a while, stroking her forehead. "Am I the person you really should be talking to about this?" he mumbles, at last. "I mean, I'm not a woman, I wouldn't know--"

"This _is _your child, too," she points out sharply.

Kaddar sighs, thinking it over. "What do you want to do? Instead of holding her in the nursery, do you want to bring her over here in your old room, like before? Of course, it would be a complete breach of propriety," he muses to himself. Shaking his head, Kaddar dismisses the idea. "Never mind. It's ridiculous."

He hits a nerve, though, and she sits up quickly. "That's a wonderful idea."

"It's a complete breach of propriety," he explains again, patiently.

"So?" She shrugs, excitement sobering her quite a bit. "She's my only child."

"For now," counters Kaddar. "There's no need to coddle her so."

"She's _sickly._"

"Aren't all babies sickly, at first? Besides, we'll have more soon--"

Kalasin looks up at him with narrowed eyes. "We're…having more…soon?"

"Well, of course."

"You say it as if it should be so obvious," she murmurs, her hands going to her stomach instinctively. "Why?"

Kaddar chuckles, running his fingers through his hair. "I've ruled this country almost nine years without an heir. It's unstable."

"We have Kalahari now." Kalasin isn't cuddled against him any more; rather, they face each other from opposite sides of the bed, glaring.

"She's a girl," he says, bluntly. "I love her, but she's only a girl, and nothing can change that."

The empress rises before she realizes it and stands in front of him. Kalasin is vaguely aware that her fists are clenched and she feels a bit lightheaded, but she ignores the feeling of dizziness. "_Only _a girl?" she hisses. "You're calling your firstborn child _worthless _because of her gender?"

"Kalasin, be reasonable--"

Kalasin slaps him across the face with all the strength she can muster. "I can't _believe _you, you sexist slime-" and she draws her hand back for another slap.

Before she can act on it, one of Kaddar's hands snap out, grabbing her wrist hard. He takes advantage of her wide-eyed amazement to fling the hand back down. "Don't speak of things you don't understand," he hisses, before storming away from her, slamming the door behind him.

Kalasin sits down on the bed numbly, rubbing her wrists.

Before Zaimid escorts a rather drunk Kaddar back to the imperial suite at nine that night, she has already moved all of her things out of his room and locked the adjoining door firmly.

-

Told you.


	18. Once More, With Feeling

**Chapter Eighteen**

For the next month, things in the imperial suite seem…quiet. And lonely.

Kalasin sits on her bed every night, and she has no one to hold her comb and hair ribbons for her as she pulls her hair out of its ruthlessly elegant style and shakes it free. She brushes it herself, doing her best to get to the tangles at the ends. It is, after all, so much harder when somebody else isn't doing it for her, as she leans forward on the edge of the bed, purring as she feels the attentive care lavished on her mane.

After she finishes, she ties it back, slides into the right side of the bed, still unused to having the whole area for her own, and brings the other pillow to her chest, where she cuddles it close. Her eyes flicker involuntarily to the door, and she isn't surprised to see the faint glow of candlelight from under it. Kalasin knows that he is hunched over on the bed, still working on the yearly tax records.

She still feels the old temptation to go back and chastise him into sitting up straight, or better yet, getting some rest. Instead, she turns over, so that her back faces the door, and slips into a troubled sleep.

When the candles have almost burnt themselves out, Kaddar straightens with a wince, placing one hand on his sore back. After setting the records on the side table, he leans across, seeing darkness on the other side of the door.

He gets out of bed, quietly padding over to the door and opening it very slightly. Kalasin is curled up on her side, her back to him. From here, he can see her shoulders rising and falling with each soft breath.

Satisfied, he shuts the door softly, before rubbing his eyes tiredly. Bending over to blow out the candles, he falls into bed fully dressed, and is asleep before his head hits the pillow.

The next afternoon, they sit next to each other, presiding over a council meeting. Kalasin is turned slightly away from him as she takes notes on a spare bit of parchment. As she bends slightly to dip her quill in ink again, a lock of hair falls out of her jeweled clip and into her face; she blows it away impatiently before continuing to write.

Kaddar simply watches her for a few moments. Upon realizing what he is doing, he shakes his head firmly and continues to work.

He visits Kalahari later that evening, before dinner. Upon catching sight of him, she gurgles happily from her place inside the elaborately carved crib, reaching her small arms upward. Kaddar lifts his daughter carefully, kissing her soft little cheek as he murmurs affectionate endearments under his breath.

After walking with her for a while, Kaddar stops under the window, patting Kalahari's back. She gives a little squeak of a burp, her small fingers curling into a fist. The emperor smiles, stroking her downy hair away from her forehead.

Somewhere from the direction of the doorway, someone clears her throat softly. Kaddar turns around, startled, to find Kalasin leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest. She turns her head away from him slightly, and her long earrings brush her shoulders. Her feet are bare; she has discarded her sandals at the nursery entrance. One perfectly painted toenail twitches, and she gazes at a painting on the wall pointedly.

Kaddar walks over to her, still rubbing Kalahari's back. His eyes meet Kalasin's for a moment, before he holds the baby out to her. "…Here."

Kalahari giggles, reaching both arms out to her mother. Kalasin takes her with a smile, her fingertips brushing against Kaddar's.

The small family looks at one another for a moment, before Kalasin turns away, stroking her daughter's cheek and cooing to her happily.

Not wanting to intrude, Kaddar slips his boots back on and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

--

Kaddar dreams about Kalasin that night. They are in the same room, but separated by a wall of glass. Kalahari is on Kalasin's side of the glass, and he can only watch as they go about their lives, without him.

He wakes in the middle of the night, his head aching from sustained tension. The emperor sits and rubs his neck, throwing resentful glares at the door separating his room from Kalasin's.

He had never thought that their relationship would affect him this deeply. That something formed for purely political reasons could be anything more than just sex with optional companionship.

Something tells him that, after about a year and a half of marriage and a having a child with Kalasin, it is somewhat inevitable that he's developed feelings for her. Natural, even.

Kaddar doesn't think that he can take too much more of this. She's thrown him off balance, and he refuses to let her put him through anything else.

Impulse brings him to swing his feet over the edge of the bed, half standing up. Then he looks at the door again, and sighs to himself, touching his throbbing head, and he winces slightly as he remembers the sting of her palm against his cheek, and the fury in her eyes afterward.

There is a piece of _wood _separating them, and he feels as if nothing he can do will bridge the distance between them.

Kaddar's fingers pull the drawer on the bedside table open clumsily, and he pours himself a liberal dose of sleeping potion. Enough to ensure that he won't be plagued by her in the night to come.

He sleeps well, for the first night in a long time.

--

"Pass me the tax records, please?"

Kalasin reaches across the study desk, picking up a large sheaf and passing them over to him. "Here you go. I did the first three provinces already."

"Thanks."

They work in silence, the only sound in the study the scratching of quills and Kalasin's soft sighs of exhaustion.

"I can't read this one," she says, at last.

"Mmm?"

"I said, I can't read it." The admission sounds almost painful in his ears, and Kaddar rises from his armchair and joins her on the sofa. He doesn't miss the way her body tenses, almost imperceptibly, as he sits next to her, his leg brushing against hers.

"The date, or the province name?" Kaddar leans down, squinting at the hastily scrawled documentation. His ear touches hers, and her breathing comes a little faster.

"Both."

Something makes him reach out; enclosing her wrist with his fingers gently, as he pulls the paper up to his eye level. "I think it's Zallara."

"And the date?"

Her voice is quiet, but something about it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "420."

"Oh."

Neither of them moves a muscle.

After a few moments, Kaddar shifts away, turning toward the rest of his work.

Something inside Kalasin snaps, and her hand shoots out to grab his arm. She sees the startled expression in his eyes for only a split second before she pulls him closer, crushing their lips together.

Kaddar doesn't think he's ever been more shocked in his entire life, and his initial reaction is to twist away. But her arms have already wrapped themselves around his neck, and he feels the heated desperation of her kisses. So he kisses back, just as hard, placing one hand on the back of her head, pushing her closer.

Kalasin moans a little, her fingers pressing into his shoulders. He is vaguely aware that he is crushing her against the cushions, but she isn't showing any indication of displeasure at all.

Kaddar's fingers tangle in her hair, pulling it out of its elaborate style clumsily, so it cascades down her shoulders and back. He means to stroke it, as they had done before, but he runs it through her hair harder than he means, pulling it and causing tears of pain in her eyes.

"Oh, I missed you," he mumbles against her lips, too caught up in the moment to realize what he's just admitted.

It hits him a moment later, and he pulls away from her, feeling a little bewildered. _What just happened here?_

Kalasin looks at him, and her throat tightens. And now he knows that she's missed him, as well. That she's been _stupid _enough to allow him that power over her.

Kaddar, slightly alarmed by the expression on her face, reaches for her hand. "Kalasin—"

"Just leave me alone!" she yells, before dashing into her room, slamming the door behind her.

After waiting for a few minutes, he gets up, and it is a simple matter for him to disable the lock on the door, even though he knows he will face the consequences of it later.

He finds her sitting on the chair in front of her dressing table, absentmindedly fiddling with jars of cosmetics. She doesn't move as he approaches her, not even when he sits down next to her, confiscating all the brightly colored objects. Kaddar takes one of her hands in his, and she curls it into a fist, but only makes a halfhearted attempt to disentangle him.

"I'm sorry," she says dully. "I…that wasn't supposed to happen. You can gloat now."

"Why would I gloat?" he asks, and she looks up into his eyes. "After all, I did kiss back."

"But I _initiated _it. And I shouldn't have," she exclaims. "We're…not good for each other. Things are better the way they are now. I don't want to deal with a relationship again. I don't want to deal with _ending _a relationship again." The empress slumps wearily, wiping her cheeks with her hand. "But I still miss you, and I hate myself for it."

"Wait…Kalasin…don't cry." Feeling more than a little out of his depth, he pats ineffectively at her face with the sleeves of his tunic. "We're not bad for each other, either."

Kalasin leans against him and sniffles something along the lines of _prove it. _

"I want you. I miss you."

She nods agreement against his chest, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry," she says at last, sounding forlorn. "For hitting you."

Kaddar blinks in surprise. "…I really do love Kalahari, you know."

"I know."

They sit in silence for a while, Kalasin nestled against him. He doesn't mind, even though she is pressing against his arm uncomfortably.

Kalasin yawns, her fingers tightening in his. Kaddar struggles with himself for a minute. "Do you want to…" he asks, before pausing, the rest of the question hanging in the air uncertainly.

Kalasin regards him for a few moments, her eyes solemn as she considers her decision. "Yes," she tells him, finally. "You go ahead. I'll get my pillow."

They walk over to the door slowly; before he leaves, she stretches her arms out to him. Kaddar hugs her close, reveling in the familiar scent of her perfume and the soft feel of her hair under his hands.

"Truce," he whispers into her ear.

Her arms tighten around him, and he feels her smile against his cheek. "Truce."

-

The next chapter might possibly be the last one, I think. So…please review? I need something to make me feel better.


	19. Epilogue

**Note: **As always, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope you enjoy the last installment. -smile- It is set quite a few years into the future.

**-**

**Epilogue**

Zaimid thinks that they have gone soft.

Kaddar doesn't share the same opinion. "It's not as if we're declaring our undying love to one another, or anything," he says grumpily.

(He keeps it to himself that he's starting to think that Kalasin is beautiful, and not just in the figurehead-empress kind of way. She is still beautiful when she sulks, or when he has to hold back her hair during her bouts of morning sickness. He is learning how to comfort her when she is moody, instead of saying something hurtful and making her feel even worse. He puts up with the fact that her nail paint smells absolutely _awful, _and that she talks in her sleep and is clingy, to boot. And he loves their children more than he will ever admit.)

Kaddar is learning how to appreciate Kalasin, despite—or even because of?—her quirks, and that unnerves him a little, although he finds that he prefers quiet evenings reading to verbal battles and door-slamming and playing twisted little mental games that leave a bad taste in his mouth.

Kalasin doesn't flirt with other members of the court or his mages just to make him jealous, now. She thinks being a parent is strange, but at least Kaddar helps. She appreciates it that he makes it a point not to favor the two youngest; the twin boys, over Kalahari, and she thinks that someday, she might be able to make him promise never to marry their daughter abroad. Secretly, she likes it that when she looks at their children, she sees a little bit of Kaddar, and a little bit of herself, in them.

Kalasin never tells him that she likes being in Carthak, with him and their family, and that she wouldn't trade their life together for anything. She thinks that he knows already, by the way that she sometimes strokes his hair when he's very worried and he squeezes her hand absentmindedly.

Kaddar never tells her that he thinks he might love her, because he isn't brave enough, and secretly, he is a little bit afraid of rejection. He does, however, think it in her general direction every night, and she smiles, kisses him goodnight, and blows out the candles, and that is good enough for both of them.

-

_fin._

_-_

Well, it's over. Thank you so much to everyone who left a review - you guys rock. I love getting feedback, so I can know what I'm doing well, and what I can improve on.

Kally and Kaddar thank you for listening to their tale!


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